


A Little Bit of Sunshine

by skiesandmore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 13:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiesandmore/pseuds/skiesandmore
Summary: Zellaria Maes, a quirky, cheerful young witch, runs into hard times and sets out to look for a job in order to pay for her drafty, unkempt flat above the Leaky Cauldron. Out in Diagon Alley one day, she sees a sign up in a shop window. "Help Wanted". Little does she know, this shop is Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and her new boss is George Weasley.





	1. Chapter 1

Diagon Alley is a blur of brilliant colors, a swirl of mixing magic, a symphony of cheerful laughter. Diagon Alley is beautiful, all in itself. Even more beautiful than the lively witches and wizards, the lovely sights and sounds, is the tiny possibility taking the form of a "Help Wanted" sign in one of the corner shops.

I glance up at the sign and grin in delight at the prospect of working here. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It looks full of color and fun and I can't wait, a feeling of fierce hope surging through my veins. Something about this place makes me feel like a little kid again.

Stepping through the door, a loud bell trills, announcing my arrival to the various customers, all talking excitedly and guffawing at the intriguing and entertaining products that line the shelves.

A shout of, "Be with you in a moment!" comes from somewhere in the spacious store, though it's too large to really be able to tell where it came from, perhaps the back room, or the upstairs.

The shelves are filled with enticing, clever magical objects of all sorts, for every type of person, ranging from love potions, to wizard fireworks, to extreme and ridiculous pranks. I sidestep something flying through the air-whizzing loudly straight past my head and see someone holding an opened box of something called a "Fanged Frisbee".

Swiveling my head around I see a large display, full of bright colors, of what are named "Headless Hats" and peer curiously at the things. I'm reaching out to touch the bright, silky material of one of them when I hear a voice behind me.

"One of our newer products, try one on if you'd like." I turn around to see a tall boy- man?- coming down the winding staircase of the the shop. He grins when he sees me, giving a a huge wave. "What can I help you with?" He inquires when he reaches me, looking at me with open curiosity.

"I actually came in to ask about the sign in the window," I say, trying to smile warmly at him, but I'm terribly nervous, so I'm not sure it comes across right.

He apparently doesn't notice because he nods, smiles brightly and runs a hand through his flaming red hair. "You're looking for a job, then?"

"Er, yes..." I trail off, staring around me in wonder at all the incredible pieces of magic surrounding me. "I'm in desperate need, actually." I look up at him- a boy, I've decided, he hardly seems grown- into his crystal clear blue eyes, clouded only by a mysterious bit of sadness- and he seems a bit concerned by my wording, his eyebrows furrowing a little. I make another decision in that moment- I like this boy, who can be worried for someone he's hardly met.

"Well, I'll go grab you an application and we can go from there." He smiles warmly at me, a genuine smile, and disappears.

I continue to wander through the aisles, half falling in love with the store in the process. It's right up my alley, so to speak, and in a joke shop, the atmosphere cheerful and enthusiastic and bright. It's not hard to be optimistic surrounded by such fun. Picking up something called a "Skiving Snackbox", I turn it over and look at the pictures on the back side. Fainting fancies, fever fudge, nosebleed nougats, and puking pastilles greet my curious stare. Reading the large print on the box, my eyes widen as I realize the effect of each.

"I would advise not trying any of those," the boys says, coming up next to me. His words carry a tone of conviction, as if he knows, first hand, what they do. And of course he would, as he does work here.

I laugh, a high, sort of pealing sound. Staring up at the boy, who is easily a foot and half taller than me, I say, "Shouldn't you be endorsing your own products?"

"Well, I just told you not to eat them. Of course, you could always trick your friends, leave them around from someone to 'steal'." He puts air quotes around the word and his eyes crinkle as he laughs quietly. "I used to slip them to my brothers all the time."

"I'm afraid I haven't really got anyone to trick like that," I say wistfully, trying to smile at him, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes.

"Oh." He seems to be genuinely at a loss for words for a second and then says, "Well, you could always come up here and prank me...Although, I've got to say, that would be pretty difficult, all things considered."

"All things considered?" I question, raising an eyebrow at the boy, who seems to be grinning in delight, a mischievous glint in his light eyes.

"George Weasley, king of the pranks, at your service," he says, jokingly formal in tone, giving a dramatic little bow at the end.

I laugh loudly, my shoulders shaking and he joins in after a second and it feels wonderful to be laughing with somebody, both of us casting amused looks at each other.

"George Weasley, eh?" I hold out my hand to the red-head, who is beaming at me brilliantly. "Zellaria Mays, at your service."

He shakes my hand with a firm grip, a true grin spreading even further across his handsome features, meeting his eyes, and they light up. I don't know what I've done to make him look so bright, but it suits him, and my nervousness seems to have disappeared.

"Care to show me around? Explain the other products?" I ask, smiling around at the massive store, taking in the three floors and shelves filled from floor to ceiling, walls painted in dazzling bright oranges and blues.

"Absolutely!" He starts walking down the aisle excitedly, waving his hands wildly around as he immediately jumps into an explanation of something called a "Patented Daydream Charm".

I follow behind him closely as he gives a description of every product on the shelves, smiling and giggling at his enthusiasm and the way he talks with his hands. He seems like a little kid, talking fast, his eyes sparkling excitedly.

"So...that's everything, I think." The corners of his mouth turn up even more, which doesn't seem possible, but there he is, grinning at me like a maniac. "What do you think?"

"I..." I trail off, taking in the sheer number of products and thinking privately that there aren't really any words for this place, for how I'm feeling. It's like being a child again, surrounded by awe-inspiring dreams, everything so much bigger than it really is. "It's absolutely wonderful, you have no idea. I've never seen anything like this shop."

He nods enthusiastically, looking incredibly pleased with my response. "That's the idea."

"You've done an amazing job with this store," I say sincerely, looking up at him- I actually have to crane my neck to see into his eyes, he's so much taller than me.

He stares at me, almost confused, for just a split second, then looks toward the back room, muttering something to himself, and then turns back to me, smiling at something in his head. He's half insane, but I find him fascinating. He grins at me like this for a moment before snapping into reality, and saying, very rushed, "Why don't we skip the formality of an application? I consider you hired, if you want the job."

I gasp in surprise- pleasant surprise- and gush, the words spilling from my lips. "Oh, of course. Thank you so much. Really, this is incredible, this is perfect. Oh, I can't believe it!" I realize I'm practically squealing and quiet down, settling for just smiling at him gratefully.

"You seem to genuinely like the store, and that is very important, so-"

"Closing time!" A loud voice screeches, loud and nasally and whining all at once. "It's late! Everyone go away! Out! Time to close!" Whatever- whoever?- it is is screaming in a terribly angry tone, almost frightening.

George seems to be turning an alarming shade of red, almost as bright as his brilliant hair, and I give him a quizzical look, deeply confused.

"That's our...bell, I suppose. See, it used to be a portrait of a friend of ours' mother, and it used to say terribly nasty things. We thought it might be a good idea to change it's words to something a bit more...useful. Guess we underestimated her, she can be a bit scary, even now."

"Oh," I say, biting my lip. "Should I be leaving, then? I don't want to intrude..."

"Oh, of course you aren't intruding!" He exclaims, looking as if that's the last thing I could be doing. "I actually do have to be going soon, I have dinner to attend with the family...But you can start tomorrow morning, yeah?" He starts packing up his stuff and I take that as my cue to get going.

"Oh, yeah, sure," I say. He's off to dinner with his family and here I am, going home- if you can even call it that- to do nothing. To be miserable, and lonely. Talking about leaving, I realize how much fun I've really had today and sigh. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He grins at me and waves as I walk out the door and down the bustling street that is Diagon Alley. I glance back and see him watching me as I walk away. And suddenly, I feel like maybe I won't be so lonely and I really start to look forward to my new job.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zellaria shows up a little too early for her first day and a secret comes out.

The fact of the matter is that my getting to work perfectly on time- or perhaps forty or so minutes early- just couldn't be helped. I had woken up in a rush of excitement, grinning at myself in the mirror like a lunatic as I got ready. The thing is- once you're there, you realize this- Diagon Alley is barren early in the morning- though, mostly, the brilliant colors remain.

The inside of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, however, looks dismal- completely and totally void of the energetic anticipation it usually carries. All the lights are out, the sign sits motionless, and no fantastic- though occasionally frightening- magical objects fly around the display window.

Quite honestly, I'm not sure what to do, as I really do not wish to return to my apartment in the Leaky Cauldron- dark and dingy as it is. Returning there wouldn't be the most wonderful idea for the impending work day, or my mental health. I decide, however hesitantly, to wait it out. I idly wonder if I heard George correctly yesterday- eight? Or was I imagining it?

There's a loud banging sound above me, and then a long screech that echoes through the shopping center, bouncing off the brick buildings, and seemingly directly into my ears. I jump back away from the door of the shop and peer upwards, where the awful sound came from.

An ancient-looking window, rusty and worn, is open- directly above the shop, curiously. There's a short scuffling noise and another bang- accompanied by a muted thud- and then a shock of flaming red hair is sticking out the window, and my new boss is grinning down at me like...like the Cheshire cat I've hear about in so many muggle stories.

"Zellaria!" He shouts down, a tad louder than necessary and I hope he doesn't wake the neighbors. "What are you doing here?"

I get the rare urge to make a sarcastic comment, but resist it. Of course that would be inappropriate, especially on my first day of work. I just continue to stare up at him and shrug my shoulders, widening my eyes as he pushes himself even further out the window.

"What, cat got your tongue?" George laughs a breezy sort of chuckle and sticks his own tongue out at me. Somehow, I've been hired by a very large child, I realize. He continues, "We don't start for another half hour, Zellaria. Don't tell me you're an overachiever!"

I shake my head, not knowing how to respond to that. Am I an overachiever? I think back. Well, I was certainly never an underachiever. I'm ambitious. Looking up at George Weasley, I wonder if that's perhaps a bad thing in his book.

"Still not talking? Eh, whatever suits you." He leans ever further over the edge of the window, and I'm intensely scared he's going to tumble to the ground. What would I do then? I ponder this, and his voice brings me back out of my thoughts. "Since we don't start until eight, would you care to come up for some breakfast?"

I snap my head back a tiny bit, taken back by his offer. Is this customary? Do employers usually invite their employees to breakfast in their flats? I've never had a job before, of course I don't know the answer. I tilt my head, thinking about it. I'm about to open my mouth, maybe to protest, but I just nod instead.

"For a second there, I thought you were going to speak." George's grin is huger than ever, covering almost his entire face, I'd say, and he leans back into his flat. "I'll come down and unlock the door in a moment." He gives me a smaller, somehow more sincere smile, and disappears from my sight, only to reappear a second later at the doors of the shop. He opens the door for me, mockingly bowing like a gentleman as I pass him.

I pause for a second and let him lead me up the curly stairs, careful not trip on a pile of Decoy Detonators. I'm sure the noise would probably wake up that awful portrait. Now that I think of it, the portrait serves as a rather impressive security system. No soul would be able to truly steal anything without making some noise to wake the wretched old woman.

He reaches the top of the stairs and opens a tall door painted sky blue, walking into his flat. I hesitate outside at the edge of the doorway, feeling incredibly nervous for such a simple thing, and he turns to give me a quizzical look after a second. "Come on now, I promise I don't bite. And I don't have anything too terribly dangerous in here, either."

I give him a weak smile and follow him into his living room, where there is a worn-looking (comfortable-looking) leather couch with a homemade quilt with the letters 'F' and 'G' knitted into the knotty woven fabric. George looks back at me, smiling warmly, and gestures for me to sit down.

I gingerly take a seat on the bouncy cushion, folding my hands on my lap, feeling a tad bit awkward.

"What would you like for breakfast?" He seems oblivious to how I'm feeling; his voice clear and undeniably cheerful. Perhaps that's just his personality- this odd boy with his scarlet hair and bright disposition. Maybe that's just George Weasley.

"It doesn't matter much," I mumble, looking down at my hands and then reaching out to touch the fabric of the quilt beneath me. "What does the 'F' stand for" I ask, a bit more loudly.

I regret the words as soon as I say them. George's eyes flit between the bright green letters embedded in the material and his features sag just a tiny bit before he says brightly, "Oh, that's just my middle name. Ford." But the boy is lying through his teeth, I can tell, and I can't even begin to imagine why, so I let it pass without saying anything.

There's a silence between us- though my head is filled with questions that I want to ask him. He just lets out a low, humorless chuckle, and asks me, trying to make his voice seem more cheerful, "Are pancakes good?"

"Pancakes?" I repeat, incredulous. "You're going to actually make pancakes."

"Well, of course. I'm am extraordinary cook if I do say so myself." George aims another Cheshire cat grin at me, and continues on into his kitchen. Curious, I get up and follow him.

At his kitchen table, there are already two plates full of pancakes, dripping with sweet maple syrup as thick as molasses, accompanied by crisp bacon, and finished with two tall glasses of ice-cold orange juice, rivulets of condensation falling from the foggy sides. I swivel my head around to look at him in shock. He can't expect me to believe that he actually made this breakfast. It looks delicious, and I was expecting something more along the lines of toast charred to a crisp with watery eggs and glass of black coffee. For some reason, that's what I picture.

"Surprised?" He laughs, and then gets quiet for a moment, staring at me as if contemplating something. He then breaks out in another grins and admits, somewhat hesitantly, "Actually, my mum made them and sent them over."

"Oh, well that was friendly," I say warmly, trying not to laugh at the fact that his mother still feeds him when he seems to be grown...well, grown enough to have his own flat and own a successful business. I fail, as a small giggle passes my lips, and George's grin only gets bigger when he hears this.

"Funny, is it?" He asks teasingly. "Just wait until you try it, trust me that it's worth still depending on my mother."

I give him a look, as if it's a challenge, and pick up my fork, reaching out and trying the pancakes. Chewing, I take a few moments to deliberate. I then set my fork down and declare, surprisingly loudly, "These are the best pancakes on the face of the earth. Seriously, though, George! They're perfectly fluffy, and so buttery and warm, and perfectly balanced with the sugary syrup." I pause for a second, and then continue, "Can we just make this an every day thing?"

George actually looks like a madman now, with his lips widening so far it doesn't seem possible. "Of course, as long as you make a good employee." For a split second, I think he might be serious, until I see the light, joking look in his eyes.

"Right...Speaking of that, when do I get started?" I question, finishing a piece of bacon. "What kind of training do I need, really?"

"Well..." He tilts his head to the side, apparently thinking about what I need to be taught, and then says, "You need to learn the product catalog, or at least our current products, and you need to learn how to deal with customers- although I'm sure you'll be fine- and then there's working the cash register. And then of course the safety spells if anything should go wrong with products...Hmm...what else?"

George trails off for a moment, but puts a finger to his head as if he's forgetting something and then he suddenly bursts out, "Your uniform! Of course, you'll look just precious in it." The boy shoots an evil grin in my direction.

"My uniform?" I ask, gulping, a little scared of what kind of uniform I could be wearing to make him smile like that.

"Oh, of course. You didn't think you could wear just any old muggle clothes, did you?" He stands up, and without warning he's grabbing my hand. Suddenly I feel terribly nervous, from contact I suppose, and I feel magic coursing through my veins. I cringe, knowing what's happening.

"Oh, my gosh! Zellaria..." George is staring at me in disbelief, with a mixture of fascination and amusement and horror on his face. "You...You're skin...And you're..."

I look down at me feet. Which are of course blue. Oh great, the boy touches me and I turn into a smurf. And my hair, which is know somehow curly, is bright pink. Wonderful. Oh, how I love being able to transform myself in the most inopportune moments.

I was rather hoping this particular secret wouldn't get out quite so soon.


	3. Chapter 3

I continue staring down at my feet, not willing to look up and meet his eyes. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, and I'm sure that the red is mixing with the blue and turning my face purple. Just my luck.

What if he thinks I'm disgusting? Maybe he's never met someone like me. I mean, what I am...it's not all that common. What if he can't ever look at me again? All my hopes are dashed in one thought...What about my job? What will happen with my apartment?

Why can't I stop worrying so much and just look at him?

Hesitantly, I bring my eyes up to his face. He's staring at me with an unsettling intensity, bright sea-blue orbs peering into my own eyes- bright white, I'm sure, like they always are when I'm nervous. I open my mouth to say something- though I don't know what- but I can't think straight with him looking at me like that. I look away so that I can regain my train of thought and say, "I'm-"

"Brilliant!" George finishes for me. "Absolutely brilliant, Zellaria. Honestly." He reaches towards me, stroking my purple skin for a second and then wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into a tight embrace and spinning me around like a ballerina. I'm absolutely shocked by this turn of events- I'm not used to physical contact of any kind- much less from attractive boys- and as George sets me back down on my feet, I stare wide-eyed at him, unable to speak.

"Was that too much? Should I have given you some space?" George suddenly seems unsure of himself...Obviously confused by my reaction. He takes a nervous step back from me, and keeps a wide eyes-open stare on my face.

"No!" I almost shout. "It's fine, really. I was just caught off guard, that's all. That's not exactly the reaction I was expecting."

His eyebrows furrow in further confusion and he says, in a low voice, "What were you expecting?"

I bite my lip and struggle to keep my expression blank while I say, "Something much worse." Before George can reply, I plaster a cheerful smile on my lips and say, "Should we go get my uniform?"

George glances at the door quickly, and then brings his eyes back to rest on my face. His gaze stays there for some time before he finally says, "I suppose so." He breaks eye contact, and gracefully lopes toward the door and down the spiraling staircase before I have time to consider what his body language means.

I follow after him quickly, struggling to keep up with his long strides as he's about twelve feet taller than me. "Wait up, will you? It's not my fault you're a giant." I call after him, surprised at the phrase that seems to be bordering on snarky.

He turns back at me and grins. "Not completely sweet, are we?" He shakes his head in mock disapproval. "No need to hold back on me, hurt my feelings if you must." His grin grows even larger and his eyes are alight with the idea of teasing me further, I can tell.

I just roll my eyes at him, but smile as sweetly as I can, and say, "Where can I find the uniforms?"

"Ah, the closet in the back. I'll get the rest of your uniform in the storage closet at the front of the store and you can grab your robe from in there." He smiles at me and starts to walk toward the front.

"Wait, George," I call after him, "What size should I be? Roughly?"

"Oh, no need to worry about that." George's smile screams confidence in exactly the right way. "I've charmed them to fit exactly to the person who wears them."

"That's..." I look toward the closet and when I turn back to where George was, he's disappeared. "...clever."

I head into the back closet, peeking around the small room as I walk in. It's full to the brim with bright boxes branded with the logo of the store and bins of broken and dysfunctional products. I could spend years sorting through these parts, taking a look at all the magic that went into them.

As it is, I step on a small piece of something as I walk and it starts whizzing around the room, bouncing off walls until it eventually runs into a piece of cardboard and sticks. I stare at it for a moment, and then continue on my way to the hanger in the corner.

I pull out the robes, which are a brilliant magenta and slip them over my shoulders. I'm a tad doubtful of George's charm; the robes are terribly oversize. Immediately the robes start tightening in all the correct places and I gasp, looking in the mirror next to the hanger to see that they are perfectly fitting, although a bit short.

I hear George's footsteps behind me. He says, in a quiet voice, "See, I told you they would fit just right."

I turn my head at George, surprised, and see that his cheeks are red, as if he is embarrassed. I just say, "They're a bit short."

"Oh, well...the woman's robes are made to be," he says offhandedly. "I've been told that they're more comfortable to wear with high heels. It was one of my female employees ideas. You'll probably meet her tomorrow."

"Are..." I trail off, looking off at him confusedly. "Are high heels a required part of the uniform?"

"No! No, of course not." George shakes his head vigorously and says, "Death traps, if you ask me."

"Oh, okay..." I trail off. "Then what, exactly, is the rest of the uniform?"

"Pins!" George says excitedly and gestures toward the box he's carrying in the crook of his left arm. "They're brand new, never been used. I'm pretty excited about them...If we can just get some customers to wear them outside..." He trails off and then shakes his head. "But, anyway, here they are."

Grinning down at his newest product, he drops one single pin into my outstretched hand. Looking down at it, I can see that it says, "Prank you for visiting!" The pin flashes different colors and spins around, switching back to the logo of the shop. I grin up at George.

He shakes his head and hold up one finger, as if to say 'just give it a minute'.

I gaze back down at the pin. While I watch, it slowly transforms into a prefect badge, and then a name tag, and then an auror badge. I stare at it, amazed at what the little piece of magic can do.

"See, you just tell it what you want it to be, and it will transfigure into it. Took me a long time to get it working. Started it with-" George's speech drops off and his gaze goes to the ceiling.

I almost start to question what he means, but he cuts off any incoming questions by saying, "Would you like to see something else I've been working on?"

I nod, but hold up my finger a moment and begin to try and fasten on the pin to the front of my magenta robes. I can't quite undo the pin, though. Before I can even think to ask for help, George's fingers are on my own and he's taking the pin from me.

He starts to undo the clasp, but gets distracted when he see the color arising from my neck and chest. In fact, I'm distracted by it too. A bright, blinding white glow is emanating from my skin and I stare down, confused. My skin has never turned that color.

"Zellaria, why is it-"

He's cut off by my shriek as the white burns brighter and the building gives a great screech, as I feel the magic rushing through my veins, and all the lights go out, including my skin.

Oh, just perfect. I've managed to make a power outage happen without even trying. In Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, no less.

With my luck, Diagon Alley has probably lost power as a whole.


	4. Chapter 4

In panic, I hug my body close to George, frightened for no good reason. I feel George's arms wrap around me tightly as he whispers, "I wonder what just happened."

No doubt something to do with my freaky skin, I think. Luckily (for once), I know well enough not to say it aloud- I've probably seriously freaked out George enough for one day.

Sensing I'm at a loss for what just happened as well, George takes his arm away from my shoulder and starts feeling around in his pockets for something. He keeps patting them, even taking away his other arm to search as well. I feel colder without him, but I'm not about to say anything...well, incriminating. I hardly know the boy.

"What are you looking for?" I whisper, feeling increasingly ridiculous for embracing him.

"My wand. In a wonderful bit of luck, I seem to have left it upstairs." George's words are still said in a very quiet voice, and he seems almost amused at this turn of events.

It really is incredible how lucky we are. Of course, I don't exactly have my wand either...

"My wand was broken last week," I say back in the same low volume, not able to stop myself from chuckling lowly. "Unrepairable, just my good fortune."

"Our good fortune," George corrects, and if I could see his face, I know he would be grinning from ear to ear.

I fall silent for a moment, and then it occurs to me. "Why exactly are we whispering?" I ask in fervent whisper.

George doesn't reply, taking a second to think about it, I presume, as he begins to hum a quiet melody. Then he laughs once and says, cheekily, "So the monsters in the dark don't get us, obviously. Although I'm sure I'd be able to fend them off so you could escape, love."

A small, nervous giggle escapes my lips at this, which turns into a full out laugh and then an uproarious guffaw. I quiet down for a moment, realizing the ridiculousness of the situation...And why, oh why, in Merlin's name, am I laughing so much?

"Uhm..." I start, but George bursts into a fit of his own laughter before I can think of something strange to say, and of course I can't stay serious either after that.

When we're finally silent once again, I no longer whispering, "What do we do?"

"Well, seeing as neither of us have wands and there are extremely dangerous half-finished products strewn about..." George trails off for a second, wrapping his arms back around me. "We wait."

"And if no one realizes our power is out?"

George doesn't say anything immediately, and I wish I could see and read his expression. At least it would give me something to do- I could count his freckles to pass the time.

"I guess we'll just be stuck in the dark forever, together." I know he probably has a cheeky grin as he tacks on the last word and then adds, "I wouldn't mind being stuck here with you."

And I know my skin has most likely turned a frightening shade of some freakishly brilliant color and am grateful for a moment that the lights are turned off and neither of us can see a single thing.

"Well, Mr. Weasley, it looks like you'll be getting your wish, then."

We lapse back into silence and I notice that George starts stroking my hair, starting up his humming again. Willing myself to change on command for once, I feel George's fingers get stuck in my now-curly hair.

"Uh...Zelly? I'm a little caught here." The poor boy seems a little helpless, trying, unsuccessfully, to pull his hand from the strands of my hair- in fact, he seems to just get more caught. I can't help but chuckle at him a little at this.

"That's what you get for playing with my hair like I'm some kind of cat," I say teasingly and then, thinking about it, add, "And Zelly? Since when has that been my nickname?"

"Since always," George states matter-of-factly, like there's no possible way I could argue.

"George, I've only known you for a day. And also...Zelly is an awful nickname!" I exclaim, my voice perhaps a little too loud for the short distance between us, as I feel him flinch away from me. In my agitation, however, my hair turns back straight and he can finally pull his hand away.

"Gosh, Zelly, you could try to use your inside voice," he whispers in a dramatically hurt voice. "You might blow out someone's ear...Oh wait, you might've blown out my ear. It seems to be missing." He fake-frantically pat around in search of his non existent ear.

I roll my eyes and laugh quietly at the boy, "My inside voice? What am, George, three years old? And really, it's not polite to tease someone's injury."

"But it's my own injury. I can joke all I want!" George cries indignantly, and I can tell he's not one to be told not to goof around. I just laugh at this reaction, and he continues, in an even tone, "Besides, Zelly-"

"George Weasley, stop calling me that!"

"Are you done, Zelly?" George questions and I can just picture the expectant, feigned annoyed look he's giving me in the dark. "The more you argue, the more I'll call you it. As I was saying- before I was so rudely interrupted-"

"Oh, that's not-" I start to say before I feel a slight, warm pressure on my lips. I pull away as fast I possibly can and say in a shrieking voice, "Did you just try to kiss me?"

"No, love. If I had tried, I would've succeeded. That was just my finger quieting you, seeing as nothing else would work." He's grinning, I can tell, as he feels me squirm in discomfort. "Now anyway...You should just accept the nickname. It fits you, all cute and cuddly and it kind of sounds like jelly..."

"What does that have to do with anything" I ask, my voice growing higher and higher as I continue. "And what in the world do you mean by 'cute and cuddly'? I am neither of those things.

"Oh, you certainly are cute, I'd have to argue that," he says in a teasing tone and I don't know how to take his words.

I'm once again thankful for the darkness for George can't see my face undoubtedly painted a horrendously bright color.

Before I can reply to that, George speaks up again in a...well, as far as I know, a flirty tone of voice. "Would it have been that terrible if I had wanted to kiss you, Zellaria?"

I can't think of a single thing to say in reply to that shocking question and half-formed words come tumbling out of my mouth, tripping over each other, before I can pull my body away from George. Maybe if I put some distance between us, it would be easier to get my mind in order. After all, I've only known him a day. All thoughts of kissing him should be squashed before they can fully develop.

And...he's my boss! Can't be starting some scandalous love affair with my own boss, now can I? Or I could...

No, I most definitely cannot. Oh gosh, I can't believe I'm actually arguing with myself. I can't, he's my boss, and I'm already scarred enough from the war to even consider getting hurt some more.

No sooner do I think of these excuses than an hand wraps around my wrist, another arm around my waist, and George pulls me closer to him. So close, in fact, that I can feel his breath on my face- warm and minty.

"George Weasley, you are making it awfully difficult to think clearly," I murmur softly as I feel him lean in closer.

"Then don't think clearly," he whispers back, close to my ear. And then he's leaning in so close that our lips are only centimeters apart and...I just. How did I let something like this happen? I am not this kind of girl.

I start to mutter a half-hearted protest, knowing I don't really mind, when his lips- warm and soft- just barely brush mine, and, miraculously, the lights come on over head, blinding both George and I.

I pull away and blink at him in surprise, shaking my head, and then I proceed to bolt out of the closet and out of the store, leaving George to stand there.

Leave it to me to act oddly after an incredibly cute boy kisses me. Was that a kiss? Can it be considered that? I don't even know. But I can't get that ginger hair out of my head, or those amazing blue eyes, or...Oh gosh.

I just made a ridiculously dramatic exit, abandoning my boss. What is wrong with me?


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin forbid I just act like a normal witch after a good-looking boy kisses me. That would just be too difficult for my little (apparently pea-sized) brain to handle. No, normal actions are not permitted within my mind. I could have batted my eyelashes a little, maybe snuck in another kiss...or even slapped him, if I wanted things to go the other way. No, of course I ran off instead like a scared little kitten.

I walk down Diagon Alley, looking around me for a place to hide. The thing is, there a lot of places to hide in Diagon Alley, and things can be a bit overwhelming if you try to take in everything at once. My eyes still adjusting to the light, everything seems blindingly bright- and the colors, for once, are not welcome in my eyes.

I'll have to hide away and never go back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. I'll have to change my identity- not hard to do, I suppose, being a metamorphmagus and all- and leave the country. Hmm...Let's see. I could change my normally violet hair to blonde. And my nose to a different shape...Yes, this could work.

Or you could do the adult thing and go back to George, apologize, and maybe even get to keep the job you so desperately need, a little voice in the back of my head nags.

I ignore that voice.

I most definitely cannot do the mature thing in this situation- because that, of course, would only make too much sense. So I continue walking until I reach Flourish & Blotts and quickly enter the wizarding book store. It's full from the ceiling down to the floor with books of every sort- including flying books (not books about flying- books that literally fly!). I spot a secluded corner between the self help section (which changes location every hour so that storekeepers can't find them and customers quite literally have to help themselves) and the biographies. The biographies, of course, all have covers with pictures of their subjects, which talk pleasantly with the reader before they are opened.

I sink into a soft, argyle-patterned armchair in the corner and reach for one of the biographies, pulling it onto my lap. Might as well do a little reading since I'm going to be stuck here, presumably all night. It's awful to be forced into hiding, you know.

"Hey! You there!" shouts a female voice somewhere above me, loud and commanding. "Don't pick him; he's dreadfully boring. Reach for me!"

"Oi! There's no need for insults!" The wizard on my book shouts back, and then adds, almost apologetically, to me, "The text is a bit boring though."

I glance down at the paper in my hands and see a picture of Ron Weasley, part of the famous Golden Trio, shrugging his shoulders at me. The title says "Ron Weasley: Best Friend Extraordinaire or Greedy, Jealous Psycho?". Of course it's written by Rita Skeeter; who else would write something as ridiculous as that?

I set the book down and stand up in search of the female biography. "I'm over here," she says and then bossily adds, "Just grab me so we can move on."

I spot the somewhat offensive book and recognize the witch on the cover as Hermione Granger, another third of the Golden Trio. This title, however, takes her life in an entirely different direction. "Hermione Granger: Hero of the Light or a Lover of the Dark?" Underneath that blasphemous title, it has, in rather small script, "The true story about her scandalous Death-Eater romance." I eye it carefully, as the young witch puts her hands on her hips and stares at me expectantly.

As I am pulling the book off the shelf, she asks me, in a rather angry voice, " Would you please tell the store owner that this entire book is load of rubbish?"

I sigh down at the picture of the furious witch and say, in a tired tone, "Biographies aren't exactly supposed to demand things of their readers, you know."

"Oh, hush. I don't care what I'm supposed to do; the words I'm saying are simply product of a charm, designed to prevent people from buying these lies. I can talk to you all I want," she huffs, glaring at me through the glossy paper.

I set her aside and turn back to my first choice. Ron Weasley. I peer down at him, trying to decide what I want to ask. As I'm not entirely sure what it is I want to know from him, I just settle for, "Can you talk to readers like she can?"

"I think so," he says in a normal voice, and then drops down to a low mumble and adds, "'Course, I'll be nicer to you than that batty witch."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" I hear exclaimed from beside me.

"She's mental, I tell you," he says, dropping to an even softer whisper. "Has ears like a bat, she does, but I already told you she's batty."

Luckily, Hermione doesn't hear this remark and I continue with what I really want to ask. "Are you the brother of George Weasley?"

"Yeah, and Fred, too," he adds, and then mutters, "Poor Fred."

"Poor Fred?" I question, trying to think of where I've heard that name before. Certain I can't recall where I recognize him from, I ask, "Who's Fred?"

"Fred? Well, I reckon you know George, the way you asked specifically about him...I bet he hasn't told you about Fred, has he?" After a little shake of the head from me, he continues, "See, it's not exactly my place to tell, all things considered. 'Course, I am his brother too, but I'm only a bit of paper-"

"A facsimile of yourself," Hermione adds, interrupting.

"Yeah, what she said. But back on topic- it's not my place to tell, like I said. You should ask him. He can't have that bad of a reaction, right?" Ron shrugs a shoulder and gives me a half-hearted smile.

"Ronald! Merlin, he has the emotional range of a teaspoon, I tell you!" Hermione complains loudly, and when I glance down at her, she's shaking her head wildly. "You can't just bluntly ask George about him- he's still upset about the whole ordeal. Just give him some time and he'll come around."

"Well, I don't know that I'll be seeing him again," I admit to both of them, feeling very foolish for having a full-blown conversation with two books.

"And why is that?" Hermione questions- as if interrogating me- at the same time Ron asks, "How do you know my brother, anyhow?"

"Oh, well...See, I was just recently hired at his shop. And...I got to work too early, so he made me breakfast...and then he may have discovered a secret about me, which caused a power outage, and then he kissed me and I fled the scene." I say all of this in a rushed mumble, feeling supremely ridiculous- how much more pathetic can I get, relaying my life story to a couple of books?

"George kissed you?" Ron shouts in an extremely loud voice, and I'm reminded of George's chiding about "using my inside voice". "Well, that's something. George hasn't hardly visited us since the battle. Much less gone about snogging birds-"

"What Ron means to say, is that you must be something special to him if he's kissed you while he's still struggling after the war," Hermione explains, apologetically, and seems to glare at Ron through the pages of her book.

"But...the thing is, I've only known him for a day," I say quietly, suddenly deeply concerned about my boss- or well, the person who should have been my boss, had I not acted so oddly.

"Well, the thing about George is that he attaches to people quickly, or not at all. Obviously, you know he's extremely friendly, even only knowing him one day...But ever since the incident, he's not been the same- he's rarely friendly to anyone, even his family. I've seen it first hand," Hermione says all of this with a sad smile on her lips, and continues, "If he's willing to get close to you, he obviously feels some kind of connection and for his sake- and yours- I wouldn't throw that away. Whether it's romantic or purely platonic, give him time to sort it out, because maybe you being there could be good for him."

I stare, wide-eyed down at the witch as she says this, and then I say, almost in awe, "You know, for such a young witch, you're very wise."

"Brightest Witch of My Age," she announces regally, looking like a queen, and then looks at me and her smile softens. "It comes from experience."

I nod. And say, "Well, it's been lovely talking to you, but I think I have someone that I need to go talk to."

The both smile up at me hugely, and give me big thumbs up as I stand up to put them back in their respective spots on the large shelf. I give them a small wave, and then turn and head back out the door of Flourish & Blotts, aiming for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Who knew that talking to a couple of books could help me do the right thing?


	6. Chapter 6

The thing is, I can't stop thinking. There are all these thoughts running through my mind. And of course, they all center on a particular red-headed boy. If I'd been asked yesterday at this time if any boy could throw my life into so much chaos so quickly, I would've laughed at the person… And then maybe bought them a butterbeer because I would have felt bad for laughing.

As I rush down Diagon Alley, my feet pounding on the pavement as I quite literally run to find George, I can't help but worry about what I'm going to say to him. Granted, so far…talking to George has not been difficult. He's like a little kid; very easy to get along with and always saying something to keep the conversation going. But…I'm going to be reaching out to him, and I'm not sure how to act around a serious George.

I reach the doors of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes gasping for breath, and stand there panting for a moment before I heave the door open and enter the colorful store. I nervously take a dozen half steps, looking around for George Weasley as I go. He's nowhere in sight, and I start to wonder if he might've ran after me. I take a glance back at the door, and fervently hope he hasn't gone out there. He could be anywhere by now.

I want to fix this before I lose my rare sense of courage. And tremendous courage it will take, to try and talk to George about something like this. Especially when I hardly know him.

"How can I help you?" I hear a voice say from behind me, not sounding very friendly at all. I take a deep breath, recognizing it. Could he really be angry with me? What is it that I did to make him so upset?

I turn around slowly, and say, softer than really seems possible, "No, George, its—"

"Oh, Zellaria!" He breathes, seeming to be immensely relieved. "I was so worried. I mean, I know you're a grown witch and you can probably take care of yourself, but I was just…. Of course, I shouldn't have kissed you, it's much too soon for anything like that. And I completely understand if you don't want to work with me now, but I'm just so happy that—"

I practically tackle the poor rambling boy, wrapping my arms around his waist tightly and resting my head on his chest.

"You're safe," he finishes, and I feel his chin rest on the top of my head as he draws in a great big breath.

I look up at him, smiling softly. He's so much taller than me. "George, it's okay. Truthfully, it was too soon. Give me some time to get to know you."

His face falls and he hangs his head, as if he's ashamed.

I continue."But that's the point, George. I want to get to know you. Working here seems like a dream come true. You don't even know…It's been hard for me lately, after the war and all, and this place seems like such a bright spot in the darkness. And I mean that. Even if I didn't work here…"I take a deep breath, slowly inhaling and exhaling before I admit the rest of it. "George…the main reason I think working here will be so wonderful isn't the colors, or the brilliant products, or the success…"

He stares at me with a confused expression. "What is it then? The pay?"

"I'm flattered that you think so much of me." I give a light laugh, and shake my head, smiling at him some more. "It's you.With your kindness and enthusiasm and larger than life personality. You give me… the promise of a friendship, and that's something I haven't had for a long time. I've been alone, almost too long to remember ever having anyone. And I guess I'm just really looking forward to having someone to talk to, pathetic as that sounds."

He shakes his head, his eyes softening as he looks at me. "That's not pathetic, not even in the slightest. Everyone was hurt by the war in some way…" He trails off, brushing a midnight blue curl away from my face. "You don't have to be alone. I understand the need for some space, though, and I'm completely okay with that."

I give him a small smile, and nod my head. Biting my lip, I loosen my arms around George's tall frame a bit, and take a small step back. "Can we get to work on training me now?"

\--

"Merlin, George, stop acting as if you're two years old! You're getting all these shelves wet." I shout down at the bright-faced boy, grinning at him like a lunatic. I can never actually get mad at George, even when he's pulling a prank like this. And of course, he teases me relentlessly about that.

"I believe I'm acting as if I'm seven. It said so on the box, seven years and older." He gives me a cheeky grin and continues to shoot the gun at me. "I do wonder if there are 'wizard years' for this sort of thing, though. You know, like 'dog years'?Are muggles more mature than us, do you think? So their seven year olds are equivalent to our twenty-one year olds…" He stops spraying me for a second, pondering this thought, and then shrugs it off, continuing to drench me in water.

I glance around helplessly, spotting Lee sitting at the counter, watching us with an amused expression. "Oi! Lee! Don't just sit around; help me!"

Lee grins mischievously, and wags his eyebrows at me, as he pulls another water gun from underneath the checkout counter. I grin down at George wickedly and before he can see what's coming, he's being drenched with water as well.

I climb down from the ladder as the boys commence a full-on gun fight in the middle of the store. Luckily, we're closed on Mondays and only here to check inventory. Somehow, I don't think the customers would be too happy about getting caught in the cross fire of this battle.

"We're never going to get any work done at this rate," I remind the boys, putting my hands on my hips as and staring at them expectantly as they continue to douse each other in water.

They both pause momentarily, getting evil smirks on their mischievous faces, and turn to stare at me.

"Do you reckon she's a bit too much like Granger, Lee?" George smirks at his best friend, and then flashes a terrifying grin at me.

"I do believe she could be Granger's twin," Lee agrees, his eyebrows shooting upwards as he turns to face me. "And you know what happens to prank-busters, don't you?"

I start shaking me head, and look for the nearest exit, noting that George and Lee are blocking the main doors. Up to George's flat and out the window it is, then. I start inching away, but I don't have time to move before they both mutter a spell aimed at their guns simultaneously.

I take a big gulp, and then I'm hit by a wall of water. More water than should be possible, really, coming out of those tiny guns. Of course, we're all magical here, but is that really necessary?

They stop shooting after a second, and I stand there soaking, looking like a cat stuck out in the rain. I scowl at them, and announce, "You two are doing inventory on your own. I'm going up to your flat to dry off and you two aren't allowed up until all the work is done."

They both groan as they hear this news- sometimes I suspect the only reason I was hired was so that they no longer had to check inventory- and I trudge up the stairs, throwing periodic glares at the pair of them as I go up.

I still get a bit nervous as I reach the sky blue door, but nothing near as bad as the first time I came in here. See, it's been a few weeks since I was hired and the whole fiasco with George went down. Things are as normal as they can be at a shop like this…Meaning to say, things haven't been strange between George and I. And that's just as well, because we've become close.

I take me shoes off at the door, so as not to squeak across the floor more than is necessary, and head toward the bathroom. I grab a towel, drying myself off as much as I can through my clothes, realizing I've left my wand downstairs. I'll never get dry while I'm wearing these, so I take a deep breath and push open the door to George's room.

I head to his dresser, feeling like I'm intruding. This is his personal space. Although Iam curious about Fred- and also worried about how whatever Fred's dealing with effects George- and I would love to do a bit of snooping.

I shake my head and pull on a baggy shirt and some old sweatpants. I can't be going through my boss's things. That's just plain morally wrong. Except that he is my closest friend, and I do have an obligation to take care of him, and find out what is bothering him…

I'm still arguing with myself as I open the drawers to his desk, peering inside at the contents. I glance at the door of the bedroom. George shouldn't be done for at least another half hour. At least. I shake my head some more, knowing I'm seriously going to regret this, and start to take out the things in the drawer.

Several sheets of paper dealing with the financial side of the shop, some letters from his mum (which I take care not to read), and a few broken products from the older catalogue. Most of the stuff is perhaps interesting, but gives me no clue on who Fred is, or how he relates to George. I don't find anything, and I'm about to put the stuff back, when the word Fred is written in one of the old letters.

I hesitantly unfold the top of the letter, reading through it quickly, feeling ashamed of myself for stooping so low. How hard would it be to just ask the poor guy?

Georgie,

It's been a while since you've come to visit. We miss you dearly, as I'm sure you already know. It's not like you to keep your parents worrying about you, and that only makes me more worried. Things have been difficult here at the Burrow. Everyone's having a hard time, especially Ginny. Maybe you could come over with some new pranks, and cheer her up?

I know that I shouldn't push you to come over, but your absence is getting to all of us. If I didn't know how much you were hurting- maybe more than the rest of us- I would've sent a Howler. You've not been around like the rest of your siblings. We're a family. We go through things together- the good and the bad.

I know it's been hard for you, especially at the shop, without Fred around, but I do hope you'll visit us. Maybe seeing the Burrow filled with everyone can distract you a bit from your empty flat. And dear, I know you won't listen to me, but you should really take a visit to St. Mungo's. I think it would help you.

Love you,

Mum

I unfold the bottom half of the paper, tears welling in my eyes at his mother's words, and something falls out of the letter. I pick it up, realizing it's a family photo. I smile softly down at the picture, looking at all the grinning faces. They all have the same red hair and the same happy expressions as they wave at the camera- a young girl dancing around on the end. It must've been taken before the war ever began.

My eyes search the photo, taking in the size of George's family, until I find his face. He hardly looks any different. Same blue eyes, same shaggy hair, and same trouble-making grin. My eyes slide over to the person next to him, and I stare at the person in confusion. It's another George. Exactly identical.

And that's when I gasp in shock. Exactly identical. I think I've figured out who Fred is. He's George's twin. And the way they talk about him (or, in George's case, avoid talking about him), it's as if he's…dead. Tears spill over as I think of the pain of losing a family member. And a twin, no less.

I know now that I need to talk to George about this, because bearing that pain alone- if that's really what happened- is too much for one person. And if I could help him with his loss…Then maybe he could help to ease mine.


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, so, the Fanged Frisbees are up on the shelf- I got them to stop biting. And the Headless Hats are on the highest display, so the little kids can't freak themselves out when their heads go missing." I smile up at George, gesturing behind me in a sweeping motion. "Everything is in place if you want to lock up for the night."

He smiles softly at me, and reaches under the register to pull out the keys. George insists on locking up by muggle means- says he got the idea from his father. The big ornate key, however, is not a muggle object at all; it can sense when the lock is broken and screams out bloody murder for all to hear.

As he's walking to the door, he says, glancing behind himself at me, "How'd you get them to stop biting? Those things are vicious."

"Oh, you just hum a bit and stroke them like a little puppy, puts them right to sleep." I close the cash register as George begins walking back toward me. "Works like a charm. I haven't been bitten for days- at least, not by any Fanged Frisbees." I quirk my eyebrow up at George and give him a pointed look.

"Oi!" He exclaims, holding his hands up in surrender. "You surprised me, it was just self defense!"

"George, you left teeth marks on my hand. Like, they're still there," I say, holding out my hand for him to inspect.

He takes it in his, and peers down at it, fingers brushing across the little red marks ever so slightly. I feel the need to pull my hand away before we have a repeat of my first day of work. I mean, at least I've (mostly) learned to control my little coloring problem, right?

"You're right, marks are still there. I guess I just have a pair of fangs rather than teeth." He smirks at me, dropping my hand. "...Hey, are you coming up to the flat tonight?" He asks, glancing over at me as he takes off his work robes, revealing his muggle clothes underneath.

"Oh, I should probably go home and shower before I grab dinner," I say, pulling off my own robes and straightening out my pale blue dress. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear- a bright white-blonde coloring today- and glance over at George. "Oh, don't give me that look, I'll be fine on my own for one night."

"I know...but maybe I won't be fine on my own." George's lips quirk up mischievously, and he gets that glint in his eyes that I know means trouble. Whatever he's planning, I don't think I want a part of it.

"What are you up to?" I ask cautiously, narrowing my eyes just the tiniest bit.

"Nothing!" He claims, throwing his hands up in surrender once more. But the ever-present quirk of his lips and the crease of his smile tells me that there is something going on.

"Right, well...you ponder that, and I'll go home." I smile at my boss and playfully give him a shove.

"How about we go out to dinner?" He says, his eyes glimmering hopefully.

I bite my lip and think about our whole giving-me-some-space conversation. Surely, he can't mean it romantically. "I suppose. I still need to go home and get ready, though."

"That's fine, we can just meet in the Leaky Cauldron in an hour?" When I nod in confirmation, he grins hugely and says, "Great. See you in a little bit then. I trust you can get home alright? I could walk you there, if you're-"

"George, I get home every night all by myself. And remember, I'm a witch- I can apparate," I remind him, smiling at his ridiculousness and shaking my head a little.

I give him a short little wave and apparate away before I can reconsider my decision to go to dinner with him. If he means it in that way...then I just don't know how to respond. I know George perfectly well, that's true; I've grown to care about him quite a bit. And...well, maybe it's because of that. I can't start anything with him until he deals with whatever his problems are.

Why isn't he visiting his family when he'll gladly spend days and days with me? And why, oh why hasn't he even once mentioned his twin brother? For Merlin's sake, he doesn't talk about his family at all, and having a twin is something important. If he's dead, why doesn't he seem to be properly grieving? And if he's not, why doesn't he stay by his side like any other twin would?

I shake my head, focusing on getting up to my home sweet home and getting ready. Why in the world did George have to pick the Leaky Cauldron of all places? He doesn't need to find out that I live here. As I pass Tom, the bartender and owner, I give a small wave and head up the stair to my room.

I take a shower quickly and dry my hair with a quick spell, and fix my make-up in the same manner. I stare at my meager wardrobe in distress, wondering what I could possibly have to wear. And then I remember that I shouldn't care, so I put on jeans and a big wooly sweater.

And I really shouldn't care. And maybe the reason for that is because he won't really open up to me. But then again...I haven't really opened up to him either. He doesn't know about my family, or what happened to my sister when-

I cut off that thought and turn my attention to my current situation. Get downstairs and have a nice, friendly dinner with George, and then just excuse yourself. Oh, I'm sorry George, I really need to get home and rest, but dinner was lovely.

I swing open the door to my room and gasp when I behold the sight behind it.

"George Weasley, what are you doing here?" I yell, pretty much snapping at him in my surprise.

George hardly responds to my rudeness, just peers around me with a shocked expression. "I told Tom I was looking for you, so he gave me your...room number." He gives me a disbelieving look and steps around me.

True, the room is a tad bit on the...well, the disgusting side. It's tiny, hardly room enough for a bed inside, and there's a closet of a bathroom attached. Which I share with the next room over.

The walls are dark brown, the drapes a steely gray, and the hardwood floor is stained and slowly turning into a covering of splinters. Dust fills the room from ground to ceiling, impervious to the many cleaning spells I've tried. There's a single miniscule window on one wall which lets in an almost imperceptible amount of light.

It's dark and dank and depressing, but it's all that I can afford and I've tried to learn to make do with what is in reach.

"You...you live here?" George says, looking around, his eyes narrowing.

I duck my head in embarrassment. Of course I didn't want him to find out that I live here. I should live somewhere better, but I don't have the means for that. "Yes," I say softly, not looking up to see his reaction.

A small strangled sound escapes George's mouth and I don't understand his reaction. Is he disgusted by me? Is that what it is?

I peer up at him carefully, and see only sympathy in his eyes. I don't say anything just shrug and shake my head mutely. What is there to say? I don't want his pity. I don't need him to feel sorry for me.

"Come live with me."

It's so unexpected, I snap my eyes up to look at him, and start sputtering, gasping for air. What? Where did that come from?

"No, look, don't take that the wrong way. I have extra space and this...this is awful, Zelly, no offense. I can't stand by and watch someone I care about so much live in a situation like this." George's eyes are pleadingly concerned.

"It's really not that bad-"

George is shaking his head vigorously before I can even finish that train of thought. "Zellaria, listen to me, it is that bad. You deserve better than this."

"I can't...George, I can't afford better. This is as good as it gets for me." My whisper is so broken, it surprises me. I'm usually so good at covering up my distress.

"No, it's not as good as it gets, Zelly. Why...why didn't you tell me? I could've helped, lent you money if you wanted, done something. Anything. You should've told me." He's still shaking his head and looking around the room with a look of revulsion on his features.

"Ishould've told you?" I question, raising my eyebrows incredulously, my sadness and distress giving way to a searing anger. "Like you've told me about your problems? George, we may be 'close' in theory, but we know nothing about each others' issues."

"What are you talking about?" George asks in bewilderment, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. I don't mean to say the next words so harshly, but they come out as a knife, cutting into him unintentionally.

"Fred. Your twin who you've not mentioned once to me in the time I've known you. What about him?"

The pain is an instant flash across George's face, and his cheeks turn redder than his hair, his face contorting into one of sadness and anguish.

"How...How did you...Fred? How do you know that?" He whispers it so softly I almost don't hear it.

I can feel the magic coursing through my veins as blue ink seeps through my body, turning my skin a tinged cobalt. I look away from him as I say, "Hermione and Ron, though they don't know they told me. And I found a letter from your mother."

"A letter from my mother?" He questions, his voice edging in a different emotion. Anger raises his voice as he growls, uncharacteristically, "You were looking through my things?"

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't set out to, but I came across some things and I just couldn't make sense of that. Why wouldn't you visit your family? Or at the very least tell me about Fred?" I look at him with soft eyes, tears brimming.

His eyes slowly close shut and he starts shaking his head again. "Don't...don't talk to me about my family. You don't know what you're talking about."

"George, I'm sorry, but...we're friends, right? I'm just looking out for you."

"Well, stop," he says, his voice hard and angry. I glance up at his face and am frightened by the mask of fury I see. George doesn't get angry- he jokes when he's upset. But now...

"Don't look out for me. I don't need your help. I wanted for you to be a friend, not for you to snoop into my personal business," he says these words with a snarl so unlike him I'm taken aback.

But only for a second, and the anger returns quickly. "Really, George? You're going to pull that one? How about all those times I told you not to worry about where I live? When I told you not to pry? And then you show up."

"Tom told me. That's different and you know it."

I shake my head at him bitterly. "But you didn't need to come up here and peer into my personal business. I could say you invited me up to your flat, so it was inevitable that I found that letter. George, we can talk circles around this, but we only poke into each others' lives because we care about one another. And if you no longer care, then just walk away now."

He looks up at me in surprise and for the first time, hurt- honest to goodness hurt and not sadness or anger- flits across his countenance. "I still care. I just...I need some time."

He throws one last look at me, in his eyes all the emotions a person can possibly feel at once, and is gone with a sharp crack.

The fact of it is, even when I know he's hurting and he's angry and he's confused, I can only focus on the care and the...the want, in his eyes. The...well, almost-love present in his blue eyes.

And that makes me think things might be okay, even when I crumple onto the tiny bed and cry myself to sleep.


End file.
